Table for five

by Susan Wiggs

  “That’s shit.”

  “Ah, now you’re getting hostile. Further proof that you’re chicken.”

  “I’m thinking of the kids, okay, about doing what’s best for them.”

  “What’s best for them might just be this trip, Sean. They need to get away from this house, this town for a while. It’s too sad here, too haunted. You want me to be Charlie’s tutor. If I come along, I can do just that.”

  “You were dead set against it.”

  “I’m willing to compromise. I adore Charlie, and the change of scenery will be good for everyone. Cameron thinks so, anyway, and in case you haven’t noticed, Cameron is one smart boy. He showed me the green jacket, by the way.”

  “You’re kidding.” Sean always kept the thing buried in a piece of luggage but could never quite bring himself to get rid of it.

  “He wanted me to see for myself what you’re capable of. The night he told me about this opportunity was the first time since the accident that he’s shown me anything but rage and defeat. He was hopeful, looking forward to the future. He believes in you, Sean.”

  Sean’s stomach tightened. He believes in you.

  “He says he’ll be your caddie,” she added. “Apparently he’s quite good at it.”

  “I’m not turning this family into a Wonder Bread commercial,” he said.

  “No. That’s the sponsor’s job as I understand it. Yours is to show up and play golf and look wholesome.”

  He glanced around the RV. Its tacky laminated walls seemed to close in on him, squeezing tighter and tighter. “I’m not doing it,” he said. “I’m not dragging this family across the country in a damned Winnebago.”

  part five

  Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with.

  —Mark Twain

  chapter 37

  “Where the hell is the turn signal on this thing?” asked Sean, searching the console of the Winnebago as he drove east toward the interstate.

  “Don’t cuss,” said Ashley, whose car seat was buckled to one of the bench seats.

  “I’m not cussing,” he said, finding the turn signal and heading up the on-ramp.

  “You said hell,” Charlie informed him. “You said, ‘Where the hell—’”

  “All right.” He briefly put up his hand in surrender. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Charlie said agreeably.

  By checking in the rearview mirror, he could see her seated at the table, her legs tucked underneath her, drawing vigorously with a green crayon. Across from her, Cameron lounged with his nose in Ben Hogan’s Five Lessons.

  Finally, Sean cut a glance sideways at the co-pilot’s seat. Lily was busy with her computer-generated maps that had the route highlighted and all the distances measured to the last tenth of a mile.

  Last night when they’d had their final predeparture meeting, he had looked at her printouts and brochures in bewilderment.

  “I’m pretty sure we could make it just by following the signs on the interstates.”

  “Pretty sure isn’t good enough. My way, we’ll be absolutely sure we don’t miss any important landmarks.”

  “Do you always plan ahead like this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Grinning at the memory, he said, “How you doing, Miss Lily?”

  “Fine, so far.”

  Seven miles from home and she was fine. “Reason I ask,” he said, “is you’re kind of quiet. My driving make you nervous?”

  “No.” She checked her watch.

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  “No,” she said again, but the sudden pink blush in her cheeks contradicted her. She shifted in the high-backed seat, looking monumentally uncomfortable.

  And then, for no reason he could put his finger on, the smile stayed in place. They had left a place where every minute of the day was saturated with reminders of grief and loss, and as the miles rolled past, the air felt lighter, clearer, as though they’d driven out of a fog. He wondered if the others felt it. Cameron was quiet, eagerly watching the screen of his cell phone to see if there was a signal so he could call Becky. He never said she was his girlfriend, but Sean recognized the funny, faraway look on that young face as Cameron watched the miles go by out the window.

  By midmorning, the landscape had shifted to the harsh drama of the Columbia gorge, and the highway was nearly empty. Bald mountains reared up on either side of the river, and yellow grasslands rolled away to the east, into eternity. They found a driving range near Gadsden, and that was where Sean decided to stop for lunch. There were only two other vehicles in the parking lot, but he still felt self-conscious about the bread-wrapper design on the RV.

  “Nobody eats until each of us hits a bucket of balls,” he stated. Charlie had her own set of cut-down clubs, and Cameron had his dad’s. Sean had brought along Crystal’s clubs for Lily, though when he handed her the pink designer bag, her brow knit in a frown.

  “What?” he asked.

  “This stop wasn’t on the schedule.”

  “It’s on my schedule. Loosen up, Lily. Come on, I’ll show you how to hit a drive.”

  She protested, of course, right up until he stationed her with a bucket of balls and a driver and teed one up for her. She hacked away, missing or topping the ball, hitting a grounder once or twice.

  “Try this grip,” Cameron said, showing her. “No, not so tight. Easy.”

  Sean felt a welling of pride for his nephew. The kid had problems, sure, but he had a heart, too. Sean and Red had argued long and hard about choosing a caddie, Red wanting someone with experience and a record of success. Sean wouldn’t hear of it. Cameron would caddie for him or the deal was off.

  “Like this, Cam?” asked Charlie. “Like this?” She and Ashley had a plastic Wiffle ball they were chasing around.

  Watching the kids with Lily, Sean felt something else, a funny warmth in his gut. Two months ago, the idea of spending the summer with a schoolmarm and three kids would have sounded like a joke to him—or a nightmare. Now he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.

  They fixed sandwiches for lunch, though he noticed Lily couldn’t quite bring herself to try the smooth white bread his sponsor had provided in such generous quantities. Once they hit the road again, Lily kept her word about being Charlie’s tutor. She launched into teacher mode, and the afternoon was spent studying landmarks along the trail of Lewis and Clark. Amazingly, she had managed to find the historical significance in practically every bend in the road—the signal fire Meriwether Lewis had used when he lost some of his party at Dry Canyon, the rock formation around the rapids where they’d spent six weeks in one springtime. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Ashley unhappily sucking her thumb and Charlie yawning with boredom. Cameron looked too bored even to yawn.

  Sean turned off the highway, following signs to a Taste-T-Freeze drive-in.

  “This wasn’t on the schedule, either,” Lily said.

  “Oh, yes, it was,” he said. “According to local lore, Lewis and Clark stopped here for onion rings in the winter of 1811.” He pulled up in front of a menu board covered with illustrations of dancing chocolate-dipped ice-cream cones. “This was where Sacajawea befriended them for bringing soft-serve to the savages.”

  “Very funny,” Lily muttered.

  “I love you, Uncle Sean,” Charlie shouted from the back of the RV.

  “Lubyou,” yelled Ashley.

  Sean clutched at his heart. “God, you girls slay me. Take the wheel, Lily. I’m dying here.”

  Munchkin-like giggles erupted from the rear.

  After they placed their order, Charlie decided to teach Ashley “The Rainbow Connection,” and the two of them sang the first line loudly, over and over again. Cameron put in the earpieces of his iPod. Sean laughed at the expression on Lily’s face.

  “And to think,” he said, “you gave up Italy for this.”

  chapter 38

  Late at night, Lily stood at t
he edge of the gorge that reared up around the Snake River. A perfect moon at the height of fullness spilled pale light down into the canyon, turning the fast-moving water into a stream of silver. In front of her, the darkness was pierced by stars. She couldn’t tell how deep the gorge was, but judging by the silence, the river was a good distance down. She lifted her gaze to the moon. The clarity of the air out here in the middle of nowhere made it stand out like a crisp white communion host. She discovered that if she stared long enough, the pattern of shadows and light definitely did resemble a face. Crystal’s face, maybe.

  How am I doing? she asked her friend. Is this what you would have wanted?

  A vast silence was her only reply. About fifty yards behind her lay the Take It Easy Campground, a collection of tents and RVs filled with wayfarers.

  She stuck her hands in the rear pockets of her jeans and shook back her hair. It was late and she should be dead tired, but instead she felt keyed up. Some feeling that was quite new buzzed through her veins.

  The beam of a flashlight flickered over her. Turning, she put up a hand to keep it out of her eyes.

  “Who’s there?” An edge sharpened her voice. She was suddenly very aware of the deep isolation of her position, the sheer danger of standing at the lip of the gorge.

  “It’s me,” Sean’s voice called reassuringly across the darkness.

  The new, buzzing feeling sped up. “How did you find me?”

  “It’s that spiffy Wonder Bread jacket,” he said. “The letters on the back are reflective.”

  “You’re kidding.” She took it off and looked at the back. It was a satiny white baseball-style jacket, complete with the trademark colored dots, provided by Sean’s sponsor. Sure enough, the name “Maguire” glowed and flickered when the moonlight hit the letters. “Jackets, hats, umbrellas, ponchos, shirts, tote bags…they’ve got everything.”

  “And enough actual Wonder Bread to feed an army.”

  She shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Hey, most of us grew up on that stuff. Builds strong bodies eight ways, remember the ads?”

  If only he knew. She remembered because when she was a kid, TV had been her life. It was her escape from the darkness of her family, the accusing looks of her mother. It was her glossy, artificial window into the hyperrealistic world of the Bradys, the Waltons, the Jeffersons. Even the smart-alecky griping of the Bunker family seemed a sweet and desirable family dynamic. Twenty-five minutes of quarreling and then all troubles were resolved.

  “I don’t believe I’ve eaten white flour or refined sugar since I moved out of the dorm in college,” she said.

  “Maybe this will be the summer you throw caution to the wind. Maybe you’ll find more happiness on this trip than you would have in Italy.”

  His lighthearted voice teased her and she was grateful that the darkness masked her reaction.

  “You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He took the jacket from her, draped it over her shoulders and held it in place. His hands were incredibly gentle, imparting warmth through the satiny fabric. “I can tell when you’re blushing,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper.

  “That’s impossible.” Her own voice was a not-very-intimate hiss.

  “No, I can tell. I can feel it.”

  Lily felt compelled to resist him. “We shouldn’t be doing this. You can’t just start up all of a sudden—”

  “It’s not sudden at all. This has been building for a long time,” he assured her, his hand gently tipping her face up toward his. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Yeah,” he said, bending his head, tilting it a little to the side. “I reckon I am.” His lips brushed against hers as if by accident.

  She lost it then, grabbing him before he got away. Her arms went around his neck and she pressed herself against him. He felt wonderful, his lips just firm enough, his body strong and protective against hers. Then the kiss went deep, deeper than she thought possible, deeper than reason, deeper than loneliness. She strained against him, standing so high on her tiptoes that she trembled. His arms slid down, cupping her hips, bringing her closer, tighter. She forgot to think. She couldn’t think. His warm, pliant lips coaxed her into surrender, and she stopped even trying. This was wholly strange and wonderful and impossible, and she felt swept in an updraft, flying high to a place she’d never been.

  By the time the kiss ended and she settled back to earth, she was dizzy. In the night sky behind him, the stars spun like a kaleidoscope of cut glass.

  “Oh, boy,” she said, breathless and flustered, a girl at a junior high dance.

  “Oh, boy, is right,” he said, sounding neither breathless nor flustered as he reached for her again. “Why, Miss Lily, I had no idea.”

  “No idea of what?”

  “No idea you had a kiss like that in you.”

  She jumped backward to escape him. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I sure as hell know what I was thinking.”

  Lord, that voice. Even in darkness, when he was nothing more than a shadow, that voice reverberated through her like the plucked string of a fine instrument, its subtle, compelling vibrations radiating outward to nearly forgotten places inside her.

  She took another step backward. “This isn’t like me. I can’t think why I…maybe the moon made me insane. I’ve heard it can have that effect on people in the wilderness.”

  “Lily.”

  “Yes?”

  “This isn’t exactly the wilderness. It’s a campground.” He advanced on her; she edged away.

  “It’s certainly a wilderness to me,” she said. “When I travel, I stay in hotels with swimming pools and coin laundries.”

  “Ah, a first-class traveler. But Lily—”

  “What?” She pulled her hands into fists to keep from grabbing him again.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Yes?” She swayed, stifled a moan, edged away. She had to get out of his force field, that was all there was to it. He was a magnet, an irresistible energy, and she was nothing but a helpless piece of scrap metal.

  “If you keep heading in that direction,” he said, “you’re in for a nasty fall.”

  “What? I don’t—”

  The air left her in a whoosh as he grabbed her and pulled her swiftly against him, back into his arms, that hard, lean body pressing against her. Then, ever so gently, he turned her and shone the flashlight beam on the ground. The light outlined the edge of the cliff.

  “See what I mean?” he said. “Call me crazy, but I’m thinking you don’t want to get away from me that bad.”

  She put on her jacket. “I’m the crazy one.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah? Maybe we’re crazy together. I like you like this,” he added. “Want to make out?”

  “Last time I heard you say that was at Crystal’s wedding,” she said. “You were obnoxious.”

  “And did you say yes?”

  “You didn’t say it to me.”

  “Whoa. I was obnoxious. I’m saying it now. Come on, Lily. It’s only a kiss.”

  “Right. Only a kiss. Got it.” Suddenly, humiliatingly, her throat filled with tears. God. Could he feel her crying the way he could feel her blushing? She turned and stumbled away from the cliff, toward safety.

  “Now what?” he asked, pursuing her.

  “To you it was only a kiss,” she blurted out. “To me it was—” She stopped, forced herself to fight for control.

  “It was what, Lily? I’m no mind reader. You’re going to have to tell me.”

  “All right, listen. Just because kisses like that are a common occurrence in your life doesn’t mean they are in mine.”

  “Then you’re in luck. We can do something about that.”

  “We already did and now it’s done and we don’t have to do it anymore.”

  “I don’t get you, Lily. I don’t get you at all.”r />
  “I simply wanted to see what it was like to kiss someone like you,” she said. “That’s all.”

  “Someone like me,” he repeated. “You’ll have to explain that.”

  She stopped walking to face him. The moon had risen higher in the sky, and the light washed over the empty trail in the gaping chasm of the river. All right, she thought. Maybe honesty was the way to go. The way to scare him off for good.

  “Someone who’s so good-looking he doesn’t even seem real to me,” she confessed in a broken whisper. “Someone whose picture is on whiskey posters in Taiwan.”

  “Japan,” he said. “I did that poster in Japan.”

  “Whatever,” she said impatiently. “You understand what I’m saying. You’re not the sort of man I usually find myself with, so I was curious.”

  “What sort of man do you usually find yourself with?”

  The kind I can walk away from anytime I want. She cleared her throat. “The last guy I dated was a gym teacher.”

  “I’m an athlete,” he said, clearly baffled.

  The difference between a gym teacher and Sean Maguire was the difference between a lightning bug and a lightning bolt.

  “The guy before that collected model trains as a hobby. You get the idea. They’re all…ordinary. Like me.”

  That silky laugh again. “You, ordinary? Give me a break.”

  “My point is, you’re not my type.”

  “Because your type is ordinary guys who teach gym and collect trains.”

  “Exactly.” Finally he was grasping the concept.

  “I know why that is.”

  “Oh, so now you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

  “Hey, after all the hours I’ve spent with Dr. Sachs, I’m qualified. See, those guys are safe,” he said. “Now, me, I’m the guy you could actually fall in love with, so you’re resisting me.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “If your performance in this tournament matches up to your ego, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” She headed toward the RV park. The few lighted windows and glowing tent domes pierced the darkness, and a couple of campfires still burned.